


Dream Holiday

by orphan_account



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Dublin - Freeform, M/M, Post Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 12:08:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Next time, just me and you, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Holiday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asianlandwar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asianlandwar/gifts).



> Written post Hollyoaks Later 2008 - re-imagining canon.

Dream Holiday

 

An Excerpt from the HO! Boys Chronicles

 

 

**

 

“Ow! You did that on purpose!”

John Paul kissed him on the side of the neck, then bit him very gently on the ear. “Sorry.”

He said nothing, disarmed as John Paul knew he’d be. “Wash it out for me.” He closed his eyes and sighed as John Paul gently got rid of every last bit of the shampoo that had dripped onto his face.

“Better?” he asked softly.

“Much.”

“Lay back.”

John Paul spent a long time massaging the shampoo into his hair, even longer massaging his scalp until he was a warm, boneless mass. “Close your eyes.” The water was just right and John Paul’s chest made the perfect headrest.... “All done.” John Paul was running his fingers through, untangling what needed no untangling, twining the strands over and over his finger. “Love you.”

Eyes still closed he reached up, brought him down for a kiss. “Me too.” He smiled as John Paul started laying tiny kisses on his nose. “Don’t you want to dry my face first?”

“Perfect as you are.”

Yeah, he’d heard that before and somehow whenever John Paul said it he believed it with all his heart... “Love you.”

“I know.”

Their hands were entwined on his stomach, the warmth of John Paul’s breath a sensuous delight on his still wet face. He grinned – no reason, grinned just because he was happy.

“But, Craig...”

“Yeah?”

“Hands off my fucking decks!”

 

He laughed, turned, brought up a cupped hand and splashed the contents in John Paul’s face...

 

 

**

He didn’t recognise the voice at first – he’d got so used to Irish girls ‘calling’ for Craig’ that it took a moment to adjust to the accent. “Steph?”

“Hi John Paul, you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m great, Steph. You okay?”

There was a short silence before her response came. “Fine, John Paul. Still missing Max, but I don’t suppose that’s going to change any time soon.”

A longer silence this time as they silently remembered those so recently lost. No, not lost, taken away from them. Bloody Niall! “Craig’s upstairs. Do you want me to-?”

“No, not if he’s busy. I know what he’s like when he’s studying. Just ask him to give me a ring later okay? Thanks, John Paul.”

“Alright, Steph. I’ll tell him.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye, Steph.”

 

 

 

**

The fact that Craig sighed and allowed him the kiss meant that he’d had enough studying for the time being. His hair was warm, soft, tickling at John Paul’s chin. “Steph called, asked you to ring her back.”

“Hmmm. Did she sound okay?”

“No, not really.”

The sigh was deeper this time, but his relaxed posture didn’t alter. Good sign: he’d have Craig’s undivided attention for a while then... “I’ll phone later. Remind me, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll remind you.” He wrapped both arms around him, bent to kiss his ear. “You done?”

“I’m done.”

 

**

 

 

John Paul was not going to be happy.

He spent a few hours in the kitchen dodging the flirty attentions of his female housemates, ‘helpful’ suggestions, catcalls, jeers about doghouses and not getting any for weeks to come, finally coming up with a culinary treat for John Paul.

“Pie and chips – with ketchup! Mate, you are a fucking star!”

 

 

**

 

John Paul was nibbling his ear.

Oh great. Now he’d have to leave it for a little longer.

Steph was not going to be happy.

 

 

**

 

No, he had to tell him. What was he a man or a mouse?

“John Paul...”

“In a minute. I’m trying to get this mix...”

Shit. Alright, well there you go – not his fault. What was he to do – he couldn’t disturb John Paul when he was on his decks...

He’d have to leave his phone...elsewhere...for a while. Oh and let all the others know not to fetch him if she rang...

God, what a life. How the hell did it get so hard to tell your lover you were taking your sis away for a week in an effort to try to help her recover from the trauma caused by someone’s psycho half brother?

 

 

**

“So when _exactly_ were you going to tell me?”

 

**

 

“Yeah I answered the phone.” He held the squirming Craig in the glare of his gaze. “So at what point were you going to let me in on this decision you’ve made?”

“Mate, I wanted to – _tried_ to tell you. Sorry.” The puppy dog eyes.

Did he think that that was always going to work its magic on him? Some day those eyes would have no effect whatsoever. “Craig, why did you think you couldn’t tell me?” His tone was gently chiding.

Craig shrugged, shuffled over to him, a sheepish look on his face. He fixed the neck of John Paul’s t-shirt to his satisfaction then raised the puppy eyes to his. “It’s too soon – wanted to stay with you.”

The unspoken 'look after you cos, you know' was understood. Sighing, John Paul pulled him into his arms, kissed his hair. He loved this man more every bloody day! “Stay with me then.” He met Craig’s eyes. “Let me go with you. Steph assumed we were going together in any case.”

He saw the relief in Craig’s eyes.

His smile was just... Well did he already say he had it bad? “Oh, mate, that would be fantastic! We hadn’t decided where, but now you’re coming too!” His hug was almost suffocating. “I’ll go and phone her.” He reminded John Paul of a puppy chasing its tail. And that was nice – really cute - just so long as the pup didn’t, in its cute excitement, accidentally crash into John Paul’s decks...

“I’ll start looking online for cottages etc.”

“Sound. In a bit.” He bounded away, the door slamming in the agitation of his wake.

John Paul stood for a moment in the wake of the hurricane, aware, fully aware that he not only had it bad, but was also in danger of getting addled by the force of his adoration. Why else would he be stood, grinning like a loon, with no admonishment from his brain, no matter how stern, able to make him lose the smile or the “god I love him’ mantra playing over and over in his head?

 

**

“ ‘Somewhere warm, Craig, you know I hate the cold’! Well who doesn’t bloody hate the cold?” He looked at John Paul’s smiling face. “Apart from you! Where does she think we’re going to be able to find warmth – it’s the middle of bloody winter!”

John Paul laced the fingers of both hands on Craig’s torso. He loved this position, said he liked feeling Craig’s belly – _trying_ to feel it, if only he could find it – under his fingers. Cheeky bastard! He was wearing that aftershave Craig had bought him in Liverpool when he’d come to Hollyoaks to visit his mum and well...to get John Paul back. It meant something very special to the both of them and he assumed that there wouldn’t be a time when that scent wouldn’t bring back memories... “I think we should leave this until later. I’ve bookmarked a few likely sites.” He kissed the tip of Craig’s ear. “No hurry, is there?”

Before Craig could answer John Paul started kissing him.

He loved the way John Paul kissed; it was like eating a cream cake and sucking your fingers afterwards; an assault on the pleasure centres of your brain, from the initial recognition of the advent of pleasure to the final Mmmm of pure satisfaction. Sex with him was like being set in front of a banquet consisting of all your favourite dishes and given the go ahead to feast! Each dish was fabulous and you’d go from dish to dish, never feeling full, all your senses alight until the final satisfied mouthful when you’d sigh and simply sit back in a bid to be better able to savour the sensation of being completely full to the brim with pure pleasure.

He was never able to pull out of a kiss with John Paul, until by mutual agreement, they called a halt.

John Paul was, of course, more than a little aware of this.

 

 

**

 

“Steph, no listen. Steph! Okay just wait a min-“

John Paul met his eyes and raised an interrogative eyebrow. Craig had told her where they’d decided on and apparently that hadn’t gone down all that well. He could understand that – outside of the Arctic you couldn’t have chosen anywhere colder than the Scottish Highlands. It hadn’t been their first choice, but getting something short notice wasn’t ever going to yield anything like first choices so they’d just had to make the best of it. Craig’s sister didn’t seem inclined to do that. Well he had sisters so wasn’t exactly surprised at that, but he had sisters so all his sympathy was with Craig.

“Hand it over,” he mouthed, hand outstretched. He put a hand on Craig’s arm to keep him in earshot as he took the phone and found a bright, warm smile. “Hi Steph!”

“Oh hi, John Paul. Alright?”

“Yeah, fine. You got all your shopping done? For the holiday I mean. You’ll probably need to get those fluffy earmuffs – they look so cute - and some of those really warm boots. Our Mercy had some – they were really nice, made her look like class. And me and Craig will have a great time getting the log fire going – we can all sit around the fire at night, all warm and cosy, with the wind howling outside. And I make a mean Irish stew. We could all cuddle up together-“ He put a hand over Craig’s protesting mouth. “Nice bowl of stew in front of the fire... Can’t wait. Been such a long time since I went away with my family.”

He listened to her breathing on the other end of the line; eyes locked with Craig’s, fingers entwined.

“Me either, John Paul.”

He heard the smile in her voice and nodded ‘success!’ to Craig. “I’ll hand you back to Craig. See you soon, Steph.” He handed Craig the phone, leaned against the table pulling Craig between his legs and waited for him to get through talking to his sister...

 

**

 

“I don’t see what the problem is! You have three – and I have three.” He just - barely - managed to resist the urge to roll his eyes. John Paul’s stunned, indignant expression was just so OTT.

“Craig, we are going to Scotland for a week NOT a fucking year! In what parallel universe would two blokes ever require six suitcases for a week long stay in Scotland!”

“Do you want us to miss the fucking plane and then have Steph start panicking? Trust me, you do not want to see Steph panicking!”

John Paul held out for a little longer, but the imagery of a panicking Steph eventually got through.

“If I end up with a hernia you will be very fucking sorry!”

Craig put both arms around his waist, nuzzled his neck, smile kept strictly to himself. “I would be, yeah. Which is why you’re not going to get a hernia.”

“Get. Off. Me.”

He didn’t make any move to aid Craig in ‘getting off him’ when Craig simply tightened his hold and started kissing his neck.

 

**

 

So it must be something in the genes then. Steph had 4 suitcases. When he turned to look at Craig, horrified, Craig deliberately refused to meet his eye.

“Hey Steph.” He hugged her, even going so far as to kiss her on the cheek and hug her again.

She smiled at him over Craig’s shoulder. “Hi John Paul.”

“Hi Steph.” Are you from this same parallel universe? “I see you’ve got all the bedding and food then!”

He ignored Craig’s glare.

“Oh well I thought I’d better bring a bit extra. Craig could you help me...”

He resisted the urge to make the ‘nah nah nah nah nah’ face when Craig tried to smile at his sister, a quick warning glance sent his way. Maybe it would be _Craig_ who suffered the hernia then...

 

**

 

The journey was okay – except for the fact that Steph just would not fucking shut up! And unlike fucking John Paul he couldn’t pretend to sleep at any point. No, he had to stay awake and listen to the relentless drone. For fucking hours! When had Scotland ended up on another continent – on the other side of the planet!

Well getting a ‘taxi’ to the place was all fun and fucking games wasn’t it? Who had a mini as part of a taxi service, eh? I mean, seriously, a mini?

Of course John Paul had neglected to inform him – prince that he was – that he’d booked a minivan to take them to their destination. So all that fuss about the fucking suitcases... Wanker!

Craig refused to speak to him all the way from the station to the cottage.

Of course the tosser didn’t seem to notice. Oh just cos he had sisters! Like he didn’t know how to be bloody charming to girls. His sister wasn’t a girl and besides she’d talked him to a bloody standstill earlier!

When he tried to catch John Paul’s eye without success he folded his arms and fumed. All the way to the cottage.

 

 

**

John Paul grabbed hold of Craig and kissed him. In front of Steph. He made the ‘you are such a sulky little...’ face, but accompanied it with: “Love you,” said in that low ‘god I love you!’ tone that made him melt every time.

Craig gave him some tongue, pressed suggestively against him, then...remembered where he was. “Oi! None of that!” He pulled away, eyeing his sister. “Steph, do you wanna go and unpack? I’ll help you to bring your cases...”

“Don’t stop on my account Craig!” her eyes were shining.

Oh god. Oh just fucking great. Why had he not thought to factor this into his...factoring of things? Not only the nosiest cow who ever lived she also had the most prurient curiosity he’d ever encountered. “S’alright Steph.” Meaning not on your fucking life, bitch. “Look, John Paul will help you with your cases...”

“Sure, no problem. You take this one, Steph.”

“Oh thank you, John Paul.” She was still smiling and it was only as he watched them heading up the stair that he cursed himself for a thick moronic idiot!

 

With sinking heart he counted to 20. When he’d reached 60 and they still hadn’t returned he put his head in his hands.

 

**

Craig was still going on. And on. And on... Yeah Steph had grilled him about their love life, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have sisters himself. He was a past master at handling that sort of terrorist insurgence. Steph was a snap in comparison.

 

Craig, it turned out, was a bit of a drama queen.

 

“...ever, ever hear about what I get up to in bed!”

“Well unless you’re going to tell her...”

“Cheeky fucking cow!”

“Just natural curiosity.” He was rubbing Craig’s back. He claimed he’d put something in it out with the suitcase lugging so rather than making the ‘I told you, didn’t I fucking say?’ face at him he was rubbing it in the hope of putting back what had been put out... He really wanted Craig to maybe shush just a little so they could concentrate on other things. Well he knew of only one sure way to get him to do that...

He’d reached his left hip by the time the sounds of protest morphed into something a lot more productive.

God he loved this. He wasn’t especially vocal during sex, but Craig... He _loved_ giving instructions – and praise. This was as much of a turn on as the acts themselves.

“Yeah, right there, bit of teeth. Oh god yeah. Ohhh...”

“Craig...”

He and Craig went absolutely still.

Another slightly louder knock. “Craig.”

 

**

 

Unbelievable! He’d come all the way to the coldest place on the planet, done his back in carrying all her fucking suitcases and she was going to do _this_!

He ignored John Paul’s ‘cool it’ face. “What!!”

“Oh hi, Craig. Craig I think there’s a mouse in my room!”

He and John Paul stared at each other. A mouse? A mouse was going to spurn all the comforts of the city, travel across frozen tundra, climb fucking mountains all so it could partay in her fucking room? “Steph, come on. There’s no mouse in your room.”

“I swear, Craig. I swear I can hear it. I think it’s under the bed.”

Sighing John Paul started to get out of bed. Craig gaped at him. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

He was pulling a jumper over his head. “Wait there, Steph, we’ll get rid of it.” He laid a finger against his lips and quirked an eyebrow.

Craig, still fuming, nevertheless got the point and too rolled out of bed. When he saw John Paul eyeing his erection he made the ‘I don’t fucking think so!’ face. John Paul made the ‘yeah whatever’ face and pulled on his jeans...

There was, of course, no fucking mouse! They showed her the offending piece of cottage that had been making the mouse noise against the shutters.

“Oh I am so glad. I couldn’t have stayed here if there’d been mice, Craig.” She stared at him. He stared back.

“Well you’re alright now, aren’t you Steph.” John Paul had an arm around his waist pulling him toward the door.

Steph wrapped both arms around herself and ...shivered. “I am so cold, John Paul...”

 

**

 

“No way.” No way was he sleeping next to Steph – she was all arms and legs! And besides no way was anything coming between him and John Paul.

Even John Paul nuzzling his neck wasn’t enough to make this alright. He’d got worked up and now he was expected to put it away so that his sister wouldn’t be cold? She could freeze to death for all he cared!

“Hey, stop sulking.” John Paul’s teeth were gentle on his earlobe. “When she’s off we’ll head back to our room. Just stay quiet. She’s dropping off anyway...”

Yeah, drop off, Steph. Drop off a fucking cliff!

 

“Alright let’s go.”

He rolled out of bed as quietly as possible and crept to the door, turning to see... John Paul entangled in the arms of the spider woman. Every time he tried to move the tentacles would tighten. She even had her face buried in his neck.

What a bloody cow!

John Paul made the ‘I give up’ face and shrugged...as much as the tentacles allowed.

Furious, Craig stomped back to bed. He gave his sister a look that had he had that power would have turned her to stone and then crumbled her into dust - just for good measure.

Fuck being sensitive to her sensibilities: after tonight he was going to fuck John Paul every single night! And on the sofa downstairs too! And at full fucking volume!

“Ow!” John Paul protested as Craig accidentally kicked him in the groin in his furious flounce back into the bed.

“Sorry.”

“Rub it better,” John Paul said into his ear.

Well he fucking might just fucking do that!

 

 

**

 

“You are fucking joking aren’t you!”

“Keep your voice down!” He closed the bathroom door. Craig was glaring at him, the shaving cream he’d carelessly, furiously slathered all over his cheeks and chin had him having to fight to maintain his serious demeanour.

“That was the one time, the one and only time I will ever, ever EVER share a fucking bed with my sister!” He grabbed the razor.

John Paul took it from him. “Calm down.”

“Well how the fuck would you feel if you’d had to share your bed with one of your sisters?”

“Not homicidal, I can tell you that for nothing. Hold still!”

“Hold up.” He pulled away from John Paul’s firm grip on his neck. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that you’d be okay if Mercedes was all over me the way Steph was?”

John Paul sighed, grabbed him again. “Fucking don’t move!” He began to shave him, taking more care than he normally would have – just to keep him still. “Mercy would rather swallow razor blades than share a bed with either of us!” He turned Craig’s head to the position he wanted. “And she wasn’t ‘all over me’; she’s an active sleeper that’s all.”

“Yeah, whatever! Well she’d better fucking actively sleep somewhere else from now on. Don’t care if she’s got Arctic fucking winds coming in through her window, she’s not getting into our bed again.”

“Well to be fair, Craig. We got into _her_ bed.” He didn’t even _try_ to hide his grin.

“Funny. Well we’ll see who’s laughing on the other side of their face tonight shall we!”

John Paul rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Craig.”

 

 

**

 

Well that was the last time he’d book anything on the internet! Okay the place was clean and yeah it could have been worse, but hello? Holiday cottage? Who could possibly call this a holiday, what with the trillion miles away from anything that even vaguely resembled civilisation! Okay, yeah the proper functioning of his brain had been somewhat... impeded... by images of roaring winds, a roaring fire and snuggling up with John Paul, but how could he possibly have known that fantasy would bear no relation – none! – to cold, bitingly cold reality. Who the fuck would expect people on holiday – spell it – H.O.L.I.D.A.Y – to go out and chop fucking wood!

“You are a right fucking pansy!”

“Watch it!” he threatened, pointing the axe at him. “I’ll have you know that while you were doing all that arty farty crap at that pansy school you went to I was out on adventure outings twice a fucking week! I learned to look after meself! Yeah that includes making fire; chopping wood, fetching and carrying water – What? Oh shut up! Ow! Great, just fucking- What you doing? Oi give it here!”

“Craig, look at your little wrists! No way can you wield a great big axe! No, you sit down. Actually I tell you what why don’t you go and gather some berries or something...?”

 

 

 

**

 

“Oh John Paul I don’t know what we’d do without you!”

“Oi! I helped too!”

“Course you did, Craig. I meant you too.” He resisted the urge to wink at Steph’s telling glance in his direction.

Craig could be a right drama queen and he and Steph had come to an unspoken agreement to ...indulge... him. Truth is Craig had done the lion’s share of the work – he’d insisted – the remark about the berries seeming to really provoke him.

It had taken a while, a lot of soot and some really ripe swearing – on Craig’s part – to get the fire going, but here they were – nice roaring blaze and the urge to curl up in front of it with a cup of hot chocolate – and Craig. Unfortunately there was the ever-present matter of Steph to deal with. Had she not been a part of the equation he had a feeling that Craig would be less sour and yeah he too would have regarded their time together in a very different way. But that was pure selfishness on his part. It was okay for Craig to be sour toward her, she was his sister – he was allowed – but as the guest he really needed to make more of an effort.

“Steph, why don’t you put your feet up and let me and Craig sort dinner today?"

“You fucking what?”

“Oh John Paul! Oh I am so glad you and Craig got back together. I was rooting for you even when John Paul was with Kieron. I really think-“

The roar of the fire was the only sound in the room as Steph stared at him, he stared at her and Craig said and did absolutely nothing...

 

 

**

 

Craig stroked his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said into Craig’s shoulder.

“Come on. How many times are you going to apologise for something you don’t need to apologise for? You wouldn’t be human, John Paul, if you didn’t feel the way you’re feeling.” John Paul felt the kiss in his hair. “Do you think I don’t want you to feel grief for him; that I think you can forget about him just like that?”

“But I’m so happy with you, I don’t know why I’m still crying over him.”

“Because you’re human and you have been through a lot – more than anyone should in a lifetime! You’re entitled, mate.” Craig lifted his chin and smiled into his eyes. “I’ll go and make you a cuppa.”

He made to get out of bed but John Paul stopped him. “Stay.”

When Craig settled back into the warmth of the bed John Paul once again rested his head on Craig’s chest. “I wanted to love him. I tried. I wanted so much to be over you. And he was such a nice person, Craig. You would have liked him.” John Paul looked up at him, able to find a smile through the pain that threatened to overtake him again. It happened like that; he’d be happily going about his business and all of a sudden he’d get an image of Kieron - a memory - invariably accompanied now by memories and images of Tina too and the pain would hobble him where he stood, no amount of will or denial able to stem the flood of emotion. He’d been able to control it to a certain extent earlier, but once dinner was done – a silent miserable affair – he’d escaped to their room and given in to the grief. “More than Spike.” He laughed at the expression on Craig’s face, kissed it away. He knew Craig still despised Spike, but understood now that it was more a chemical thing – the way there were just some people you hated on sight – and less to do with jealousy per se. The fact that he’d been going out with John Paul had just made Craig dislike him just that little bit more. They were able to talk about the past, understand where they’d been, celebrate how far they’d come. The past had no hook in either of them, not anymore, that included Kieron and all the mess around that entire period of his life. He was confident Craig knew his heart and though he, in many ways, hated that he still grieved for Kieron Craig more than allowed him the space to feel comfortable giving in to the grief whenever it came calling.

“Well it would have been pretty awkward, but yeah by all accounts he was a pretty decent bloke.”

John Paul sighed. It had taken so long to accept that it hadn’t been his fault that Kieron had died. It had felt like _such_ a slap in the face: going to the flat, ready to tell Kieron that he was leaving with Craig (he’d had _no_ intention of telling him they’d slept together) and ...finding him there. Logically he’d _known_ that Kieron’s death _couldn’t_ be related to the situation between him and Craig but he’d also known that Kieron knew, knew damn well he wasn’t over Craig and a part of him was convinced that he’d not been careful enough, had been distracted, clearly somewhere else, with someone else and Kieron had worked it all out – and taken it to heart. He’d had to force himself to pull himself out of it; had to imagine what his life would be without Craig – again – and leap – simply leap; not caring what anyone else said, what his mum thought about either him or Craig. One thing he’d known for sure was that Kieron had loved him, would want him to be happy. That had had to be enough to allow him to make peace with Kieron’s shade.

“No point in regretting anything, is there?”

Craig used a thumb to wipe away the wetness from under his eye. “None. We’ve both made mistakes, but we’re together, aren’t we, happy?”

“So happy, Craig. You’ve always made me happy. No-one else comes close, you know that, don’t you?”

“I do, course I do. Goes double for me. You know that too, I hope.”

Sighing, John Paul rested against him, tightened his grip. “I know.”

 

 

**

 

Steph came in while he was making the bed. “Hey Steph!”

“Hi john Paul. Did you sleep okay?”

“You mean once I put the ear plugs in?”

She laughed, picked up a pillow and made a valiant attempt to beat it into submission. “He’s _always_ going on about how he doesn’t snore! Quite funny really.”

They made the bed in silence. Clearly she had something on her mind and he knew her well enough now to allow her to come to it in her own time. He had a feeling he knew what she wanted to talk about and he was fine with it.

They were in the process of folding clothes and putting them away when she finally spoke. “I’m really sorry about what I said. No I know I’ve already said it, but- John Paul it’s all... Everything – Max, Kieron...Niall... You think you’re gonna be okay, don’t you? You can even go days without thinking about any of it, even once, and you kinda think that’s it: I’m cured, and then something happens.” She was holding one of Craig’s t-shirt against her, looking at him, her mouth trembling with the imminence of the emotion he too found so hard to stem once it took hold.

“Yeah.” He knew.

“My life’s _such_ a mess and sometimes I think I will never be okay again.”

“Steph.” He enfolded her in his arms.

“I miss him so much, John Paul! I feel like I didn’t have any time at all to really get to know him. I loved him, yeah, but I wanted more – more time.”

“I know.”

“I know you’re with Craig...”

“It wasn’t the same with me and Kieron, Steph. I didn’t love him the way you loved Max, but I do miss him, I do regret he’s not here anymore, but it’s not the way I’d feel if it was Craig. If I lost Craig I know I wouldn’t cope. Please don’t tell him that.”

“I won’t.”

“I do not think anyone really knows how it feels to love someone as much as I love Craig. When I met Kieron, became friends with him, started a relationship I had to...adjust...cos it just wasn’t the same and I stupidly _expected_ it to be. I didn’t understand then that what I had with Craig wasn’t the same as what other people had – or that _I’d_ have with someone – anyone who wasn’t Craig. If he...died...if I lost him...”

“Don’t. Oh John Paul.” Now it was her turn to enfold him in her arms, rub his back as he felt the well of emotion deep in his belly flow up to his chest, lodge in his throat. “I can’t imagine losing him either and I know you’re thinking of your sister too. I can’t even say it gets better and make you believe that cos I don’t know – not from experience – but I know it does. It has to doesn’t it?”

Yeah, cos it couldn’t stay that way forever could it – you just couldn’t function that way! He needed a tissue. “Hold on a minute, Steph!” God, where were the tissues? Oh yeah. As he grabbed a handful from the bedside cabinet he caught Steph’s small knowing smile and to his great annoyance went beet red! Well not like she didn’t know they were sleeping together!

“Thanks for helping me with the bed – and those.” He nodded at the t-shirt she still held.

She looked down at it and smiled. “He loves this t-shirt.”

Well yeah he loved it too. Then again he loved everything Craig wore!

“Do you remember that little scarf you both had when you were tots?”

He smiled. He didn’t _remember_ exactly _,_ but he knew he and Craig had been friends when they were toddlers. He remembered exactly when his mum had casually let it slip, like it wasn’t something momentous!

 

 _She’d been in that huge trunk again, the one she carted from house to house and always kept in the attic – when they had an attic. He’d never been interested enough to try to find out what she kept in there. All he knew was that it was stuff she’d had for a long time and considered important._

 _She’d been in the lounge with a pile of stuff and he hadn’t been taking any notice, busy with revision as usual. Oh and trying to concentrate over the row in the ‘background’. How was it that all it took was two of his sisters to start a world war? Well, since every single one of them – except Tina – had a gob on her it probably would have sounded like a racket even without the aid of a second voice to amplify the volume._

“ _Awww, remember this, John Paul?” His mum was holding up some riotously colourful ...thing._

“ _Ah, mum, I wish- Can’t believe you kept that!”_

“ _I was so proud of you, son. You were such a little Picasso – we were all sure you were going to become an artist, but when little Craig went to live in London you gave all that up.” She stared at the ‘painting’. “Every day you used to be at that paintbox. We even bought you a little easel one Christmas and little Craig bought you a box of chalks – with his own money! You were so proud of them chalks! Remember, Carm, how our John Paul would be trying to draw everywhere with them chalks?”_

 _Carmel came over, eyes glued to the thing in his mum’s hands. “Oh yeah.” She grinned at him. “Remember when he chalked all over Nanna’s front step? She went mad!”_

 _His mum laughed. “Oh he got a tanning that day let me tell you!”_

 _Yeah, absolutely hilarious - child abuse. And they wondered why social services had wanted to ‘intervene’ so many times. But forget that. “What do you mean ‘Little Craig’?”_

 _Neither his mum nor sister answered, too busy oohing and ahhhing over...stuff...in the trunk._

 _He watched them, knowing they wouldn’t answer, wouldn’t even bloody hear him, not while they were caught up in this jog down memory lane. Why were these two so damn sentimental anyway? Better question: why did it have to be Carmel who’d be around when she was going all sentimental? Most of the others would have given her short shrift. Not so bloody Carm..._

“ _Oh Carm do you remember this?” She was holding aloft a bright red scrap of material._

 _Carm frowned. “Sort of.” She looked at him. “Was it his comfort blanket?”_

 _Cheeky cow! And hold on why the fuck was that so funny?_

 _His mum had thrown back her head and burst into peals of laughter, holding onto Carmel’s hand for support - just in case she cracked a rib, obviously. Bloody hilarious. “Well yeah, it was in the end. It was a scarf, but our John Paul never took it off, used to sleep in it and everything! Frannie Dean bought it for him. She bought one for Craig, too, of course. I remember the two of them – so proud that they both had the same scarf! Like two little peas in a pod they were. So, so cute. Who’d have thought we’d all end up in the same place in the end and those two would become friends again!” She frowned. “Course that Frankie Osbourne wants to pretend we were never friends, that she didn’t used to be at my house all the time, eating my food, crying on my shoulder cos she couldn’t control her man; that our kids didn’t play together. Inseparable they were and then she goes and moves to London cos Manchester wasn’t good enough for her – she was going up in the world! She may put on all the airs and graces, but I knew her when she was plain old Frannie Dean, struggling to cope with her kids – especially Craig – he were a right handful! – struggling to keep her man from lifting up the skirt of every pretty young thing he saw!”_

“ _Mum...” Carm’s tone was warning and he rolled his eyes as he saw them both glance guiltily at him. How old was he, 6?_

“ _Sorry, son, no need for you to hear all that.”_

 _Again, sod all that. “Are you saying that me and Craig knew each other when we were kids?”_

 _They both stared at him. Carm looked at his mum, his mum looked at Carmel then they both looked at him - again. “Yeah. Didn’t you know? I thought that’s why you and Craig were friends.”_

 _He felt his stomach plummet as his pulse sped up! Fucking hell! Did Craig know? He couldn’t. Could he? “So Frankie knows?”_

“ _Well yeah, she may want to pretend she never-“_

 _He tuned her out automatically, far more concerned with the wild thoughts going through his head. Fucking hell! Fucking hell! Well this explained a hell of a lot! Jesus! When he’d ‘met’ Craig it had been so weird; yeah he’d heard about him but it wasn’t like that, not like he was meeting some kid the entire school was talking about – in a negative way. He’d met him and it had been more a case of ah, it’s you. He hadn’t even thought of it that way at the time but that’s how it had been. And when they’d become mates – it had been so easy: they fit so well, so effortlessly. He knew Craig and Craig knew him. Simple as. Well now he knew why. “How old were we?” They looked blankly at him. “Me and Craig – how old were we when we knew each other?”_

“ _Well you met at nursery – your first day - so you’d have been 3 and he was 4, I think. He was older than you. What I remember most about little Craig was the way he was always up to something. Bright as a button he was.”_

 _Still is. “And when did they move down to London?”_

“ _You hadn’t started infants yet, but Craig had the year before so you’d have been coming up to 5 and he’d have been 6.”_

 _Why couldn’t he remember any of this? It was as though all his memories prior to age 7 had been wiped. “Why did they move?” This wasn’t the question he really wanted to ask, but he really wasn’t sure that anyone could answer that question in any case; wasn’t sure he could properly even formulate that question into a question!_

“ _Johnno – Fran’s husband – got a job down South. They all thought it was the answer to everyone’s prayers.” She clamped down on whatever unkind thing she’d been about to say and turned her attention instead to the trunk._

 _He and Carmel watched her in silence._

“ _Oh not that old thing again!” Michaela had taken the earphones out and belatedly realising that she was being excluded from a conversation had stalked her way over, ready to stick her oar in. “I don’t know why you don’t just chuck it!”_

“ _Hey madam! Less of your lip!”_

 _Michaela stared open-mouthed at him. He shrugged._

“ _Aww, look! Teen’s baby gro. I have never seen such a clean baby. She kept this pristine!”_

 _He looked heavenward, wondering how long they’d all have to endure this trip-trap down memory lane._

“ _You were the messiest of the lot!” She was addressing Michaela. “Oh you know what.” She was addressing him. “I remember when you and little Craig had the bright idea to give Michaela a bath!” Her laughter rang out through the house, the bloody_ _ **stree**_ _t if the ringing of his ears was anything to go on... “I smacked your little bottom for you so hard.” She sniffed. “Pretty sure little Craig just got a ‘talking to’. So spoiled that boy. He used to lead you into all sorts, that one. Glad you’ve got more sense now than you had when you were a babby.” She gave a huge sigh, pushing the trunk from her. “Oh me back’s killing me. Sort this lot out for me our Carm. Oi! Where do you think you’re going, lady? You’re helping too!”_

“ _Oh and what about him, how come he gets to just sit there? Most of this stuff’s probably his anyway!”_

 _John Paul turned away from the scene and busied himself with his work._

 _He and Craig would have a few things to talk about! He wondered if Craig remembered any better than he did..._

 

“Sort of – mum’s still got mine.”

She laughed. “Mum’s got Craig’s too.”

Yeah he knew. He wondered if she remembered more than he and Craig did. “Do you remember me, Steph?”

She made a face. “Sort of. I do remember your sisters and I guess I do remember Craig having a little blonde friend he used to play with all the time, but no more than that really.”

Well she’d have been a few years older – like his older sisters. They all had memories of the Deans. He had no idea why he and Craig were the ones who had the most difficulty accessing those memories. When he’d asked Craig about it he’d stared blankly at him then gone and interrogated his mother! Frankie had been less forthcoming than his own mum, which at that point hadn’t exactly surprised him, but had shown Craig – _given_ him - the scarf. No way was he going to get his mum involved in any of this, but he’d assured Craig that the scarf was the same as his. They’d both been stunned by this then Craig – idiot that he was – had asked John Paul’s mum to tell him about ‘the old days’. She’d obliged.

“You know I really didn’t remember any of it when me and Craig met in school, but over the years I think bits and pieces have come back. I do have memories, but I didn’t think it was _Craig_ I was remembering, but now I know it was.” He became thoughtful.

Steph stroked his hair. He looked at her and smiled. She reminded him in many ways of Carm and Teen. He knew she could be as annoying as Mercy or Michaela (according to Craig at least) but she’d never been that way with him – had always been ultra supportive. “I think it’s so romantic, John Paul. It’s like you were just meant to be together. How many people meet when they’re practically babies and end up together?”

He laughed. “Well when you put-“

The sound of smashed crockery cut him off. Few seconds, then Craig swore – long and ripe.

He and Steph exchanged a look. “I’ll go.”

 

 

**

 

“She’s right though, isn’t she?”

John Paul was kissing his collar bone. “About?” He really hoped John Paul didn’t want to talk – he was exhausted.

“Us – meeting when we were kids and ending up together. It’s kinda unusual isn’t it?”

“Hmmm.” He didn’t open his eyes. “I can just imagine the way she was all ‘awwww isn’t it romantic’!”

John Paul laughed, kissed the bridge of his nose. “You’re a bastard.”

“A really tired one.”

“Okay, I’ll let you get off.” He moved away slightly. “Glad you came?”

“I’m always glad I came.”

“Ha ha!”

He turned his back to John Paul, waiting for John Paul to wrap his arms around him before allowing himself to drift off...

 

**

 

He and Craig were by far the better cooks! It was not a nice thing to think but perhaps Max had done the right thing dying before he could be poisoned by his new wife’s cooking!

“I swear! Some bloody holiday! I thought women were the ones who were supposed to do the bloody cooking!” Craig banged a pot down on the stovetop.

“Seriously? You really said that.”

“Well it’s bloody true. Fucking hell, man, how come I’m cooking all the time instead of relaxing?”

“You like cooking.”

“That isn’t the point! She’s a lazy cow!”

“Craig, she isn’t – she’s just a fucking awful cook!”

They looked at each other and sniggered. “Well anyway, I think we should eat out on Friday. Leave early, get into the nearest town – with a Maccy D’s – and stuff our faces! And then when we get back to Dublin eat out for a week. I never want to see a cooker ever again!”

“Yeah, yeah whatever.”

 

 

**

 

“Steph?” She turned and gave him a smile, a smile that contained nothing of her usual warmth. “What is it?” He stood beside her in the open doorway of the cottage.

“John Paul, I’m worried. I don’t know what it is, but ever since that first night I’ve been feeling a bit spooked.”

“Why didn’t you say something? You know you could have stayed with us!” Oh Craig would have just _loved_ that!

She obviously thought the same. “I didn’t want to get in the way. It’s nothing, just me, what with everything that’s happened... And Craig’s probably told you I believe in ghosts.”

Yeah he’d told him – ages ago – but he hadn’t really taken too much notice. “So is that what it is, you think the place is haunted?”

“No. I dunno.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “All I know is that I’m worried.” She turned her face to his. “And Craig should have been back by now.”

He felt his heart jump, still, then start a thunderous arrhythmic beat. “What?”

“John Paul, he only went to fetch some more wood – from the shed at the back. That should have taken him all of 5 minutes. It’s been half an hour! I was busy making some stuff for Tom so I didn’t notice until just now. I heard a sound a while back. It made me look up, but only for a minute – I really didn’t think too much of it at the time.”

“What kind of sound?”

“I dunno.” She concentrated. “Like something falling, I think. Oh God John Paul!”

“Okay, stay here. It’ll be okay.” He gave her a quick hug, mind already far away, creating and rejecting scenario after scenario...

 

 

**

Well it had been a while since he’d felt this shitty. When he was younger he’d been knocked out on the football pitch. It had been pretty serious, serious enough for him to have to go to casualty and stay overnight. His head had felt like one of them pumpkin lantern heads, only not as light and not nearly as pretty.

He was lying on his side on some kind of rough blanket, probably horse. Not that he knew what a horse blanket felt like, but surely no human being would actually choose to lay on or cover themselves up with something that felt this shitty. Horses were much tougher!

When he attempted to sit up he found himself hampered – by the fact that he was tied to the.... He strained his neck trying to make out what it was he was lying on. Too high to be the floor, but it wasn’t a bed – he definitely wasn’t in a bedroom. God his head was banging! Fucking Scotland! How did he come to the remotest part of the known fucking world and end up bloody kidnapped? In what universe was that even a feasible...feasibility?

Well it was a smallish space and yeah that was the smell of petrol. So he _had_ been kidnapped and for some reason the mentalist who’d kidnapped him was driving him somewhere. Later he'd wonder how the hell he’d managed to stay so calm during the entire ordeal, for his immediate thought was for Steph and John Paul, to start worrying – understatement – what the hell the mentalist had done to them. Why had he been the one taken? Had it just been one of those things; he’d been the one fetching wood and had it been John Paul he’d have been the one strapped to a makeshift ‘bed’ in what looked like some camper van? He really didn’t want to imagine what might have happened had they been bastards and allowed _Steph_ to fetch the wood!

But he was ridiculously calm, and considering how his head felt, ridiculously clear-headed too. No way was he not getting out of this; he’d worked so hard, been through so much to get another chance with John Paul, no way was he going to let anyone or anything get in his way.

When John Paul had reminded him of the fact that they’d been friends as kids he’d been shocked, true, but more because he was fucking spooked; the moment he’d met him that day - when he’d set off the fire alarm – he’d felt a sense of…god knows how he’d put it…but they’d both agreed that it was like they’d known each other before. What a joke to discover that they actually _had_ known each other before and not only known each other but been ridiculously into each other even then. They’d both made a joke of it, calling each other pedos, but the truth was they were both moved by this lately discovered fact and it had made a difference, a difference to everything. He couldn’t say that it truly mattered in terms of the decisions they made about being with each other, not finding anyone else even remotely enough in comparison to the other, but he knew that it made a difference in the way he saw their relationship. He wouldn’t call it romantic himself – only girls tended to see things in that way – but it undoubtedly added to the momentous quality of this thing they had.

His one regret was that he couldn’t remember their time together; not in the way he would have wanted: it would have been nice to see their younger selves…

He jerked a little as the vehicle came to an abrupt halt and as he listened to the sounds of someone moving in the front of the van began for the first time to feel a _little_ anxious.

 

 

**

They hadn’t called the police yet; Steph had been sent into a panic by the expression on his face when he’d returned from the shed; there’d been definite signs of some kind of altercation -highlighted by a few drops of blood on the grass –and had been all for calling them, but he’d managed to persuade her to hold off until they knew more.

He’d tried to stay calm for her sake and had actually wanted to _kiss_ her for being there: had he been on his own he’d have gone running off in a blind panic, no plan, no idea what he was doing. For her sake he was keeping it under control and he blessed her for that.

He’d told her that he’d go searching the immediate environs to see if he could get any sense of what had happened, all the while trying to stop his mind racing, wanting to _go_ there, wanting to numb his senses, stop his ability to hold on to the fragments of this pacific show he was putting on for Craig’s sister.

But as he grabbed a warm jacket, hat and gloves – he knew damn well he wasn’t coming back until he’d found Craig – a thought occurred to him. He frowned at Steph, for some reason just knowing, knowing that this was it – the missing factor. “Steph did you tell anyone where you were heading off to?”

She stared blankly at him for a minute, clearly unable to see the correlation between this and Craig’s disappearance. “Well I had to let Mandy know – she’s got Tom.”

“Okay. Is there any way anyone else could have got hold of the information?”

“Well it wasn’t a secret. I mean I didn’t broadcast it or anything, but I wrote stuff down and left it in the flat…”

They stared at each other in dawning horror.

“Oh John Paul, John Paul.”

He took her by the arms and adopted a stern expression. “We don’t know for sure, so let’s not buy trouble, eh?”

“But who else would even think of doing that – kidnapping Craig? Oh god I’d even considered bringing Tom!”

“No, he wouldn’t hurt a little kid.”

“But to hurt me, John Paul. Think about it – he could have gone for any one of us, but he took Craig – the thing we both love the most. He’s trying to get back at both of us.” Her eyes were filled with horror.

No, he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ allow her to make him go there. “Well okay, if he wants to hurt us he’ll want us to know, won’t he? He’s not going to just do anything without us being made aware of what he’s planning. Come here.” She’d started crying and though he felt close to tears himself the knowledge that it was most likely Niall behind this had given his grief a much needed steel core forged from anger and hatred. “I swear we’ll get him back.” He made her look into his face. “Unharmed, good as new. I promise, Steph.”

And that was a promise he intended to keep – didn’t matter how or what he had to do to make that happen. He was getting Craig back. He was getting Craig back good as new…

 

 

**

 

 

The guy was tall and had long limbs. He looked like he’d been on the road for a while. Craig had never met him in the flesh but he knew who he was.

“Sorry about all this.” He gestured to the bed, the head, the hands tied behind the back. “It would have been nice to have met in other circumstances.” He held out his hand. Oh so this one was a comedian. Great. “Oh sorry, let me undo those for you. You gotta promise not to try to escape though.” Not waiting for a response he reached over and carelessly – painfully – released him from the ties that had bound him. “There. That’s better isn’t it? Can’t chat when you’re not comfy can we?”

Craig wanted to, really wanted to appreciate, even join in with the witty repartee, but fuck! the pins and needles were killing him! He didn’t give a stuff what it looked like to this bastard he spent a few agonising minutes giving in to the pain. Escape? Having a laugh wasn’t he? He couldn’t even twitch without screaming out.

“Sorry, must have tied you too tight. Was kinda pushed for time; had to do things for maximal efficiency and that’s not always conducive to the application of finesse.”

 

Joker! And while he hadn’t been particularly scared before, there was something about this guy’s manner that scared the fucking crap out of him. He was ridiculously calm like nothing, but nothing was going tot get to him and if you couldn’t get to someone the chances of deflecting them from their chosen path of murder and mayhem was absolutely zero! “Could do with moving a bit,” he ventured.

 

The guy stared into his eyes, his own completely shielded. “So you’re e the one, eh? The one who got Kieron to kill himself.”

Well the guy may have been immune to all bribes, taunts, pleas but he wasn’t. Obviously he knew the truth of it all but that had caught him on the raw. He didn’t answer just stared back at him.

“He really thinks a lot of you, you know – my little brother.” He examined him, made a face. “Personally I found Kieron more attractive, but hey no accounting is there? Guess you’re a kid like him – Kieron was just too much man for him…” He was still looking him over in a manner that was really fucking insulting. “You’re nothing like Steph.”

“Leave her out of this. I know it’s John Paul you want to-“

“Shut it.” The voice was quiet, but damn effective.

He’d had no experience with psychos or murderers but he was intelligent enough to recognise a danger signal when he saw one. He shut up.

“You know nothing about me so just keep that zipped okay?” He smiled pleasantly. “You must be parched. Here.” He handed him a bottle of water.

Craig took it cautiously. “Is it drugged, poisoned?”

The guy laughed. “Well only one way to find out isn’t there? And you know that might have been a damn good idea – if it was intention to hurt you, which it isn’t.” Yeah, right. He handed him back the bottle. “You sure? Okay. I’ll put it here for you.” He seemed fascinated by Craig’s face, well that was the only reason Craig could find for the way he kept his eyes fixed on it. “I never had any brothers – or sisters. Grew up a really lonely kid, not sure of my place in the world. You ever felt that way?” Well yeah course he had, but he had no intention of dialoguing with this... “I guess coming out as queer must have felt like that, eh? You’d been pretending to be straight all that time... I know what that’s like – the pretending not the being queer thing. I guess John Paul did you a big favour didn’t’ he?”

“Yeah he did.” No you weren’t expecting that were you, you psychopathic bastard. “In more ways than you can believe.”

“Good old John Paul.” He was still staring at him but his expression had changed a little. He was smiling - on the inside. Craig couldn’t have explained how he knew this but he did. “How do you think it’d feel to grow up without family?”

“Like a living hell. I don’t know how I’d be able to become a decent person without that sense of identity to centre me.”

“Some people are better off without their biological mothers.”

“Agreed. And even if you realise that she’s a piece of crap, not worth knowing, you still need to know though don’t you cos even that centres you – knowing that you’re better off without them.”

“When I found out that she was alive, only living round the corner I felt all sorts - joy, relief, anxiety, hope. But that little boy who’d been abandoned 25 years before felt none of those things – he just felt hurt, just wanted to attack all those who’d made him feel like crap for so many years. Can you imagine that little kid, how it felt knowing he wasn’t like the other kids? I don’t remember any of the other kids being like me – abandoned a few hours after coming into the world – and never given another moment’s thought. You heard about the way the Ancient Greeks used to expose an unwanted kid – I think they were usually girls or kids with handicaps – out on the mountain? They’d either die from the cold or get taken by wild animals – and society thought this was a perfectly acceptable thing to do? Well that’s what she did to me – I was a kid with handicaps, too much fucking trouble – so she left me out there to die from exposure and when that didn’t happen the wolves took me…” He broke off then, lowering his eyes to hide the emotion Craig knew would be there. There were some things that never stopped hurting, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself you were free from them. “I wanted to hurt her back.” He looked up at him, once more in complete control.

Craig wasn’t sure why he was being told all this, but the longer he kept him talking… “I don’t know what to say – I don’t have the right to say anything…”

“No, go on, I’m listening.”

“Well I know you’re in pain and I don’t see how it’s ever going to be alright, but it could be, couldn’t it? I mean didn’t you get your revenge on her with the explosion and that? She lost a child; no way she’s ever gonna get over that. If you escalate this who’s the loser, eh? Do you want to die too, is that what this is about – go out and take as many of us with you as possible? You seem a bit too smart for that option. See, you seem like a guy who works things out, analyses stuff so I think you’ve made some careful calculations, done your sums and come up with a scenario where you’re prepared to go out simply because you think you’ll hurt people with your actions. But why do that, why self-destruct that way? You managed to stay off the radar all this time so you are fucking _smart_ and the only way you’re gonna get caught is by _letting_ yourself get caught. Why? You say your life’s been messed up by other people so why are you still allowing other people to mess you up? Get out the country, start somewhere else, put all this behind you.”

The guy was staring at him. “You’d allow me to escape – no, you’d fucking _help_ me? After everything I’ve done?”

“Mate, I don’t fucking care about revenge – what the fuck good does that do? Steph was with you even though you accidentally killed her husband. If she can do that then I think I can let you go even though you killed John Paul’s sister – your sister. John Paul’s different, but I’m not John Paul. If it’s a choice between keeping him safe and getting revenge on you then I’m going for door no.1 every time! Mate, let us all fucking live our lives, eh? You can’t change the past, but you sure as hell can change the future. You heard that saying: that the best form of vengeance is to live well? Well that’s what I’m saying to you – don’t be a cliché. You got your revenge – now let the fucker go.”

There was a long silence in the van as the two men stared at each other. Craig knew he was being selfish, that John Paul would be furious if he ever got wind of any of this, but he didn’t care; he meant what he said: choice between John Paul’s safety or revenge and ‘justice’ was no choice at all.

“I loved her, you know. Really, really loved her.”

“Myra?”

“Steph.”

Oh. “Wrong place, wrong time, mate. She could have loved you too, but it was just-“

“I know. Her and Tom – ready-made little family, you know? They were both so perfect for me, but you can’t make someone love you.”

“No, mate, you can’t. When I came back and saw that he was with Kieron I was prepared to walk away. I mean I thought he must have stopped loving me – he was engaged to another bloke and everything! When I saw that he hadn’t, that he was with Kieron because he needed _some_ one and I’d let him down by- well anyway that doesn’t really matter. All I knew was that I’d been given another chance. But the point I’m trying to make is that I only pushed as hard as I did cos I knew his feelings hadn’t changed, that it was up to me to show him that mine hadn’t either; that _I_ was the man he wanted. The point is, even though it would have fucking _destroyed_ me I would have walked away. When you love someone, Niall, you have to put them first – their happiness above yours, otherwise how can you really say you love them? If you hurt me, John Paul or yourself you’d destroy her - you know that. Why, if you really love her, would you do that? She may not love you the way you might want her to, but she doesn’t hate you, she does have feelings for you. Why would you be doing all this if you didn’t think she had feelings that could be hurt? She’s my sis, man, and I love her, so what can I say – you’d be better off topping me now if you’re gonna try to hurt her. She’s been through too much lately and she’s had to remain strong for Tom’s sake, but she can’t hold on forever – there has to be a breaking point. Is that what you want, to destroy them both? How many more people can little Tom lose before he’s scarred for life? You love him too don’t you? You know what it’s like to grow up feeling like there’s no-one there to love you, no-one you can call family. Is that what you want for him?”

Niall stared at him, eyes roaming all over his face as his mind worked overtime.

He rummaged in his pocket and came up with Craig’s mobile. It was switched off. “We’re on the edge of a cliff, so you need to be very careful.” He handed him the phone. “I’ll carefully reverse – if I can. You need to stay as still as possible.”

So all that talking, all that digging deep to come up with effective arguments might all have been for naught? Who in their right fucking minds drove to the edge of a cliff – with a kidnapped, unconscious, totally innocent bystander in the back of their van? “Okay.”

 

Niall rose carefully and very, very carefully made his way to the front of the vehicle…

 

 

**

 

Now he knew who was behind it all he began to use his head. First thing he did was look for signs of a vehicle. It took him a while, but he found the tyre tracks some distance away from the cottage. Niall had clearly parked some distance away and what, carried Craig...? The thought of Craig being carried like a sack of potatoes; unconscious, probably badly injured made him literally see red. He was going to kill Niall; didn’t care how he’d do it. The bastard was a dead man walking!

There was mud everywhere and the grass was steeped in water from god knows where; all he knew was that he was wet, uncomfortable and angry as hell. When his mobile rang his first thought was that Niall was ready to taunt him, which thought made his blood go straight to boiling not even _glancing_ atany of the points between.

It was Craig’s number. God if the bastard was using Craig’s number to- “What is it, you bastard? I swear to god if you’ve hurt him I will kill you. As god is my witness I will hunt you down and-“

“Steady on, man. It’s me.”

Uncaring of the prevalence of mud _or_ water John Paul sat his arse down on the grass. His hands were shaking. “Craig...”

“I’m okay, John Paul. He’s gone. He didn’t hurt me. John Paul!” This last was said with a measure of sharpness almost as though Craig could sense he was not really with it, the relief flooding every cell making clear thinking let alone the formation of words an absolute impossibility.

“Where are you?”

“Not sure. Cliff somewhere. Don’t worry, I’m nowhere near the edge, but man, I’m feeling a bit woozy. Could you come get me?”

 

 

**

 

 

 

He forced Craig to stay on the phone; made him describe his surroundings and stay conscious! He’d said that Niall hadn’t hurt him but that was clearly a fucking lie! He sounded like he had a concussion, his voice fading in and out so that John Paul had to shout at him to keep him talking...

He was sitting on a low wall when John Paul eventually made his way up the incline. He had his back to him and even from there John Paul could see the blood on his neck, ear, matting his hair. He forced himself to stay steady, but the minute Craig turned to him and smiled he lost it, pulling him to his feet and enfolding him in a suffocating hug. He knew things were bad when Craig didn’t even protest this, but returned the embrace with equal fervour.

“I love you,” John Paul said, kissing his face. “I love you, love you, love you...”

 

**

 

John Paul was staring at him. He’d been doing that for some time. Craig knew what it meant so simply waited patiently for John Paul to broach it in his own time.

Incredible! Worst holiday ever, ever! Last fucking time he ever tried to do anything nice for any of his family! Still it was nice being pampered. John Paul occasionally pampered him but it was always accompanied by some full on teasing, which wasn’t exactly in keeping with the spirit of the thing was it? Pampering meant being made to feel really special; being told not to get used to it and do you want me to buy some lippy on the next trip into town didn’t really cut it in the pampering stakes in his opinion. But this time John Paul had got his finger out – so to speak – and really gone to town. Ably assisted by Steph. And so she should – her bloody fault all this had happened after all... They (John Paul) had tried to insist they get him to hospital, but he’d refused, said a few hours rest would see him right and since there was no way he was budging on that they’d just gone all out to cater to his every whim, John Paul on him 24/7 like a gorgeous, hoody wearing guardian angel!

He really should arrange to get kidnapped on a reg.

“Why?”

Well he could pretend he didn’t know what he was on about but that was just brainless – the sooner they got this aired, the sooner they’d be able to put it behind them and get on with their lives. “Because he needed someone to fucking stop him, John Paul. I think that’s all he’s ever wanted.”

“He killed Tina; he killed Kieron.”

“And he would have killed _me_ too.” That was straight for the jugular but he needed to hear it. “I saw it in his eyes; John Paul he had me on the edge of a fucking cliff. He would have taken us both off the edge. Probably got both you and Steph up there just in time to see us go over...” He’d hurt him, he saw that, but there was no way to deal with any of this _without_ getting hurt. For John Paul Niall would always represent a blade – the blade on whose sharp edge he’d be forever destined to cut himself.

John Paul’s eyes were filled with hurt, but he didn’t say anything, neither did he look away. “I’m not going to lie or try to soften this, John Paul, I knew that if he topped me it would finish you – both you and Steph. I had to make a decision - in the moment - a decision that might or might not have even come off, but I’m telling you; if I had to do that again, faced with the exact same choices I’d do it the same way. He’s gone and I don’t know where and honestly? I don’t care. All I know is that I’m alive, you and Steph are alive and that is all that matters. I know you’re angry with me, I know you’d rather he was lying dead somewhere or locked away behind bars, but I don’t care about any of that. John Paul, I just want us to be _together_ , to try to live our lives – _together_. Isn’t that enough? All we been through, don’t we deserve a fucking break?”

John Paul did look away now, the floor seeming to have become a source of endless fascination. Craig watched him, watched him thinking, understanding the conflict, but what could he do? He’d done the right thing and in time he knew that John Paul would agree with him. He also knew that it wasn’t likely to happen overnight: John Paul would need time and space to come to terms with it all. He’d give him that time; allow him that space. That was standard. Like he’d said to Niall, when you loved someone as much as he loved John Paul there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t give to see him happy. He’d known that his safety was worth a thousand revenge scenarios to John Paul and if it took a while for John Paul to see that no problem – he’d wait.

“I’d die for you.” He still wasn’t looking at him.

“I’d rather you lived for me. That’s why I did everything I could to live – for you.”

He was crying.

Craig got out of bed, went to him, wrapped his arms about him then brought him back to the bed.

John Paul wasn’t ready to talk yet, but he would be soon: he felt safe with him, Craig knew that, safe to be angry, safe to be hurt, safe to be vulnerable. That’s all that mattered in the end; no matter what went on out there, here was where it mattered, the heart of it all – his heart, John Paul’s heart...

 

**

 

The package was addressed to both of them.

He decided to wait for Craig’s return before opening it.

When Craig came home – late, he’d stayed an extra couple of hours in the library – they had their tea before Craig opened it.

It was a DVD. According to Steph she’d got some old camcorder stuff from their dad and paid some company she’d found on the internet to convert it into DVDs.

 

It was a series of old home movies. At first they’d looked at each other, both clearly wondering the same thing – and? – until they began to detect a pattern. At first they’d only been able to clock the Dean parents and the older siblings among the sea of unfamiliar faces. Then they’d seen the two little boys who always seemed to be on the periphery of everything, wholly absorbed in whatever they were doing - and they were always doing _something_ – except for one brief clip where Frankie was grinning, finger against her mouth as she pointed to the two toddlers sleeping side by side on the sofa. One blonde, one dark-haired, full of energy, uninterested in anything else going on around them, completely absorbed in each other and whichever game they were playing at the time.

Craig was very pretty as a kid and he supposed he was too. “Look at your fucking hair!”

“Man, couldn’t they have cut it?” He hid his head in his hands.

“Oh what d’ya whack me for? You were _older_ than me, you great big bully!”

“You look like you were _really_ annoying. Yeah that must have been why. Oh god you’re trying to fight me!” He crowed with derisive laughter. “You’re just a titch!”

“Craig you fucking bully! Look, you’ve made me cry, you arsehole!” He hit him.

“Ow! What’s that for? You started it!”

“You hit _me_!”

“You must have annoyed me.”

They watched as Craig hugged John Paul then ruffled his hair.

When they sat down again Craig put his arm around John Paul and kept it there.

He and Craig looked at each other, not really knowing what to say. “Love you.”

“Double for me.”

“Do you wanna keep watching or...?”

“Early night.”

“Yeah.”

Craig stopped the DVD, turned off the telly, took him by the hand and led him to the bed.

Yeah they’d watch the rest of it later. No rush was there – it’d all still be there in the morning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The narrative references the fact that JP and Craig met as toddlers. I wrote a series of fic exploring this period in their lives. They were lost in the unfortunate hard drive mishap a few years back. If I manage to retrieve some of them I will post.


End file.
